


Two Years and Four Months

by faithms



Category: Original Work
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, Character Death, Father-Daughter Relationship, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Inspired by Real Events, Letters, Mental Health Issues, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Real Life, Sister-Sister Relationship, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 11:43:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20134900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithms/pseuds/faithms
Summary: And while it was short, I truly am glad you were apart of my life.I just wish I wasn't apart of yours.I am not suicidal. By any means. Not anymore at least. I would never hurt myself, I was more of the kind of person who just wouldn't mind if a car ran me over while I was walking on the curb and I never got back up.





	1. To My Dearest Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You died when I was 8.

To My Dearest Mother,

As I turn 17, I have officially been alive more years without you on this planet than with.

I am eternally grateful for everything you have given me.

Thank you for giving me life.  
Thank you for trying your best.  
Thank you for staying alive as long as you did.

I wish that was everything.

I have read your diaries. You were high most of my life, and out of the very few memories I have of you, only half of them are good. And while I know you always apologized for your mistakes, like pushing me into a laundry basket, and throwing a pot at my sisters head, those problems I remember are far less important than what I know now.

You went into a loony bin when I was five. I have drawings where you wrote my name with such pretty colors while you were there, and yet I didn't know you drew them at a loony bin until two years and four months ago. They are still hung up on my wall, but it hits a little different when I know you only drew my name, and not your other two children. I may have been the youngest, and I know you loved me, but I wish you were able to show them you loved them just as much.

My sister, TJ, tells me that you were different before. You were with a man and had TJ when you were twenty. He went to jail, you separated, and met my father at a casino you both worked at when she was twenty-four. You told your friend to "step off bitch" in the 'powder room' and after dating a few weeks you got pregnant with my brother. You immediately told my father that you were already raising one child alone, and that you could easily raise two. You're relationship was still early. You didn't need his help, but he was a man of honor and stayed. I remember hearing a story about him being at my sisters birthday party, must've been her 4th or 5th, and she sat on his lap and asked if he was her new dad. I'm sure you thought he was perfect. You got married a year and a half later. And a year after that I was born.

Reading your diaries, I know some of your life besides what TJ and father told me. I don't remember every moment between the ages of five and eight so that means I don't remember everything about you, so everything helps.

Reading it, I realized Tj was right. You were not the same. By the time I started building memories, you were bat shit insane.

You were in no shape to raise a child let alone three. You were constantly high as you had many mental and physical illnesses (which I don't hold against you but as a stay at home mother that isn't ideal I gotta say). In every diary entry, you talked about my father. You went on and on, some you would you were unhappy, some you would say you wanted a divorce, but most, you kept repeating that you love him and that you can't wait for him to fix you.

_He will save me. He will fix me. He will save me. He will fix me._

Over and over and over and over and over again.

It was hard to read. It's still hard to read.

I'll always cherish the memories I have of you, making chocolate covered Doritos, jogging around the block at 2am, eating beef jerky and chocolate, wishing on stars, reading Captain Underpants and Green Eggs and Ham, and every other little snippet that brings me joy when I think of you.

And while it was short, I truly am glad you were apart of my life.

I just wish I wasn't apart of yours.

I am not suicidal. By any means. Not anymore at least. I would never hurt myself, I was more of the kind of person who just wouldn't mind if a car ran me over while I was walking on the curb and I never got back up.

Or if I took my medication on Christmas, took a nap, took my medication again on accident, and never woke up again.

_But I wasn't the one with medication was I?_

But that's fine. I can only resent you for so much. I can resent you for everything, but I only allow myself to resent you for killing yourself. Accidental or not. But I still love you. It's hard to hate someone who's been dead for nine years. But sometimes I wish I was never born, and that you had an abortion when the doctor mistakenly said I would only have hours left to live after I was born.

Have you ever heard of the butterfly effect?

Maybe if I hadn't been born, the things that have happened wouldn't have happened. But I guess that's not true. In all the movies it always ends up worse after you try to change the past. But it's nice to think about sometimes.

Back to my point.

I love you. If I believed in the afterlife I would wish you well.

I wish you didn't kill yourself. I wish I met the mother that TJ grew up with. I wish I didn't resent you.

Love,  
Your Youngest Daughter

P.s. You should have divorced him.


	2. To (Are You Still?) My Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We really need to talk sooner rather than later.

To (Are You Still?) My Brother,

Only two years apart made us very close when we were young. Before and during Kindergarten you were my best friend. We always played together, you and TJ would play school with me, you would walk me home from actual school, I had a crush on your best friends. It was a wonderful friendship.

The summer after Kindergarten, after your third grade, we moved to Ohio for reasons unrelated to you.

I'm sorry I told everyone on the bus you had a blanky and a stuffed animal called Brownie.

I was only teasing. I was seven and I truly didn't realize how bad saying that could make you feel, and how others would react to it.

I'm also sorry mother, TJ and I would tease you for looking like Chicken Little.

You did, but you developed a complex and that wasn't our intention.

I didn't realize how bad Ohio was for you until a few years later. Two years and four months ago to be exact.

I didn't know you tried to kill yourself. Honest. Maybe if I did, things would have turned out better. Maybe I could have been there for you? But maybe not. I was only seven. You were only ten.

You're one of the smartest people I have ever met. I told all my friends you were college reading level in third grade. But you gave up putting any effort in school in fifth. We moved back here after one year in Ohio, but then mama died and that didn't help you at all. You only got worse. I wish you had someone to take care of you and raise you. For years, you seemed lost and depressed and angry. You would scream and yell and call TJ a bitch and fight us and lock us out of the house.

I can understand that. We didn't make life easier for you. But when TJ moved out in my sixth and your ninth, I didn't expect you to become such a terrible person in my life.

The thing is we had screamed and teased and made each other lives' a living hell, but we were still _siblings_.

But for some reason after TJ left, you started trying to scare me? I don't know what your side was.... But while I was watching tv in the living room you started slamming your hands on the hallway wall to scare me.

It was funny the first time, and the second, and even the third, or fourth. I'd jump and then laugh.

Then it started not being funny anymore.

You started doing it almost everyday. And whenever I would tell you it's really not cool anymore, you would laugh about it.

And whenever I cried about it, you told me to stop being such a baby about it.

And.

You.

Kept.

Doing.

It.

And it's such a _small_ thing. Like I get if you truly didn't find it that big of a deal, even though I screamed at you to stop, and you were making my cry everyday, and you were making me scared of coming home.

I get that you obviously didn't care that I was staying after school more and more and staying with friends more and more to be away from the house. Be away from you. I get it.

I get that when I started verbally telling you I hated you, because after _months_ of making me scared of you, _months_ of making me cry, you complained to father that I was telling you I hated you and it "made you sad".

It made me sad not feeling safe at home, but I guess that's fucking life.

It's just the point of doing it every fucking day. Every FUCKING day. When you see someone you care about cry because of an action you keep doing, after they've told you for WEEKS to fucking stop, and _keep fucking doing it?_ you deserve to be hated.

But the worst part was one day I came back from a friend's house. And you know how when you come home from a friend's house when you're younger and you don't sleep and you're a little bratty and you have some attitude because you're sleep deprived? Well that was me! It happens. And the thing was, at this point I already hated you.

_But at this point you should know I didn't just hate you. I fucking feared you. Out of anyone in the world, you were the one person I was scared of with all my heart. It may seem small to you, but after months, you made yourself the scariest thing I had ever interacted with. And I will never blame myself for thinking that._

I don't remember what I said, but it was something sassy I'm sure, and so you grabbed my left arm, bent it behind me where my hand was basically touching my neck, leaned me against the kitchen table, leaned over pressed against me, and (I can't remember if you whispered, or said, or screamed) in my ear,

**"Don't ever fucking talk to me that way again."**

and I just

I screamed and cried "Don't fucking touch me," and you let go and I ran into my room and I didn't leave for hours crying until I passed out, woke up and cried some more.

And when I came out of my room you came out of yours and you apologized and said,

"I'm sorry it was the teenage hormones."

And I replied "It's okay."

But it wasn't okay.

That was the day I stopped seeing you as my brother. That the day you lost all my trust. Because I was always told that if someone laid a hand on you, they would do it again.

And that was the single scariest moment of my life. Because the hostility in that voice.... I don't know how to explain it.

But it was very clear to me if I didn't get out _right then and there and now_ I felt like I was going to be hurt very fucking badly.

And the worst part is that in that few second window I wished for it to be murder, because I felt like it was going to be rape.

I fucking hated you more than anything in the world for making me feel so fucking helpless.

I also hated you for making me hate you.

Before eighth grade we moved in with our aunt. That first summer beforehand was one of the best summers of my life. I did nothing. Our aunt being there, I felt the safest I had ever been. All I did was read and watch tv and nothing else, because I could.

But the problem was it was around that time that you got a girlfriend. And she was and is very sweet.

My plan of never seeing you again after I turned eighteen started crumbling because how on earth could I leave her with you? She was so deeply in love with you and so emotionally deprived that if you started hurting her she would stay with you anyway. And I couldn't have that.

You stopped slamming on the walls, and nothing like that day ever happened again. We started talking- the three of us. Either it was you, me, and our aunt, or you, me, and your girlfriend. It started slow, our friendship. For the first year we only talked about anime or books. But our aunt and your girlfriend would say things every now and then about how we had such a good brother-sister relationship. And I would deny it.

But eventually after another year we were able to talk one on one without me wanting to kill myself.

And here we are a year after that, I can talk to you like a good friend.

But the problem is whenever I see you, I think of that day.

And no matter how many conversations we have, or how much our friendship grows, I can't bring myself to trust you because every fucking time I see you I think of that day. Because being pressed down and leaned against a table like that was and is the most scared I have ever been.

At that doesn't just go away.

So here I am.

I see you as a good friend. But I don't trust you and because I don't trust you I can't call you my brother.

When you sit in front of me and touch my foot or brush against me in the kitchen I feel disgusted.

And I feel a little bad but it isn't my fault you did that.

_It isn't my fault._

So now I don't trust you. With me. Or with your girlfriend. And it's been years and I don't think you even care about what happened when we lived in that apartment because you're life is so much better now then it used to be.

But I can't fucking forget it.

Those words being said into my ear with such anger.

They were said with the intention to control me and guess what it fucking worked because it still affects me to this day.

And I don't know what to do.

What should I do?

From,  
(Am I Still?) Your Younger Sister


	3. To My One and Only Sister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I fucking love you more than anything else in the world.

To My One and Only Sister,

You are the single person in the world that I love with every fiber of my being.

You raised me. With father being at work, or home high. Mother always high, asleep, or having her episodes. You were the one who read me to sleep (Twilight but it was something), helped me with my homework (and went to your fourth grade teacher to get me harder math to do in Kindergarten which truly helped me love and do amazing in years to come), held me while I cried (there were a lot of those times), and a thousand other things.

You were the one who cooked.  
You were the one who set up the Easter scavenger hunt.  
You were the one who made sure we got the Christmas presents we wanted.

You went to every concert, every parent-teacher conference, every awards ceremony, even the useless 5th grade graduation.

You met my parent's friends when I wanted to sleepover, and all my teachers during open house.

Even now you tell all your friends of all the accomplishments your daughter, me, worked for.

But I would never have been as successful as I am without you. You were the one who told me to do better than you. You said every parent wants their child to shine brighter than they ever could.

But I wonder if instead of raising me while you were in middle and high school, if it would have been better to be a kid.

Because while you were raising me, you never got to go to any sleepovers, or parties, and if I was sick you had to stay home to take care of me, and you hardly had time to do your homework, and you failed many of your classes, and you didn't thrive like you could have.

But! I know you don't see it that way. I know you love me more than life itself.

_I know even clearer because you told me that if it weren't for me you would have killed yourself._

Hearing and thinking about that always makes me glad I'm alive.

You were angry, or depressed very often growing up. At the time we called you bitchy, but after you left I saw that it was because you were the only adult and you were only fourteen.

And the past few years I was able to piece together some things.

You raised me to love myself, and to be confident in who I am. I am such a happy person that the doctors called my smiley after I was hit by a car. I am so positive that when I was sad it was always for a short time. I figured out how I felt about it and moved on. I never told people about how I felt because there was no point. I complained for giggles but I never needed to relieve stress and have someone else help me through my problems because I knew exactly how to solve them.

But 2 years and 4 months ago we had a long conversation about a lot of things and I have never been angry, but at that moment and every day since, I have had this kind of rage that I didn't know I could have. I thought it was only the kind of rage that villains had on tv, or passion murderers could have.

Because a few months before, you had a breakdown and told me something.

_"He said it was fine because I'm not his **real** daughter."_

You didn't say anymore but 2 years and 4 months ago we talked about it and that fucking disgusting piece of shit who we call father, the man who you trusted, the man who had been 'raising' you since you were four, had started raping you a few months after mother died. When you were 15 or 16.

And he didn't just rape you, he threatened our brother and I if you tried to stop.

_"I do better at work when you do this for me. You want them to have a roof over their head right?_

And he was so high for so many years he doesn't even remember the majority of everything he has done.

I will never talk to you about how much anger I have. You don't need that.

And you were going through all of this while I was complaining to you about a girl in my class who got a better grade than me and about the boy I had a crush on. I know you did this on purpose. You were eight years older than me. I was a child. I just wish I could have done more. And I wish you ran away. Or did something! Called the police. It didn't matter if we got separated as long as we were all safe.

I love you and I could never resent you for anything.

Because I know you tried your very best and you are the best thing that has and ever will be in my life.

But I swear to God everyday I wish you protected yourself over me.

You deserve so much more.

I love you with everything I am,  
Your sister, daughter, best friend, and everything in between

P.S. I love you and thank you.


	4. To My Biological Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wish I didn't think this way.

To My Biological Father,

Every few years you ask me the same question.

_"Am I a good guy who does bad things, or a bad guy who does good things?"_

My answer now: **You're a piece of shit who deserves to die.**

Every few years you tell me the same thing.

_"I'd do anything for you. I'd kill everyone in the world for you."_

My response now: **I wish you would kill _yourself_.**

One of my earliest memories of you was my first day of Kindergarten. You drove me to school and talked.

You said that if anybody grabbed me, or tried to touch me, I should grab their head, put my thumbs on their eyes, and push as hard as I can because they can't get me or shoot me if they can't see me.

I wish you just told me to elbow them in the stomach or face and scream for help. That's what other parents did.

You made it very easy for me to be a bad person.

You say racist things all the time. I think that's bullshit and get upset with you over every pejorative.

You say homophobic things all the time. I'm fucking bisexual.

You're a drug dealer, always high, and you mumble in your sleep. I know you've killed people.

You have many sociopathic tendencies. And sadly you've passed on a few of those to me.

Because I am sure that I honest to god wouldn't care if I had to kill somebody.

I am sure that I honest to god wouldn't care if I killed you.

I wonder if it's nature or nurture or a bit of both?

Because I hated you many years before 2 years and 4 months ago because of your lack of doing anything substantial in my life and still staying shit like how you're two parents in one, when you aren't even one, and how I get my smarts and confidence from you, when you were hardly around enough for me to get anything from you.

Except my view of death and murder apparently.

When I was younger, I didn't believe in the death penalty as many children don't. But 2 years and 4 months ago I developed thoughts and feelings that overrode that moral.

The moment I was told of what happened, I held TJ and cried while she cried. I felt such depression and complete and utter devastation for what she went through.

_What **you** fucking did to her._

But the next morning I had to get ready for school, and I had to walk by you while you were sleeping on the couch.

And seeing you being alive and breathing made me so **fucking angry** I can't even explain it.

And it upsets me to know that on my way to school that day, I very calmly made a pros and cons list on whether I should kill you.

I had and have no dilemma ending your life. It's such an easy plan. I mean there's a knife in every room. I could easily slit your throat while you're sleeping. I could even call the cops afterwards crying and say that you tried to rape me. It would be believable. TJ would testify and talk about the years that she was being raped and the scar tissue from her abdomen from the miscarriage you caused her at 16 would definitely help that case. It would be so easy and it would end my problems and any of her problems at least about you trying to rape her again.

But my very calmly made pros and cons list disagreed. Sadly. Because for some reason TJ took to heart that family is everything. You have to love them but you don't have to like them. Family is everything. And for some reason I will never understand, she fucking somehow still cares about you. And her being upset was my only con. You're only alive because she still cares about you. If it were up to me, I would slit your throat and watch the light drain from your eyes slowly while you're in pain writhing on the couch you spent most of your life on because watching you die in pain would probably be one of the best moments in my life.

So almost everyday for the past 2 years and 4 months, I go downstairs and see you sleeping. You look so helpless.

It brings me pleasure that I could kill you at any time, and it disgusts me that I was raised in a way that my first instinct was not to think about whether I could kill you, but whether I should.

But I don't resent myself for that.

I only resent you.

Hope you die soon you piece of shit,  
Best Regards,  
Your rape victim's daughter

P.S. When you had heart surgery, I prayed for your death. God took away Mama and won't let you die. This is why I am a fucking atheist.


End file.
